No One Said I Would Be Alone
by HedaBeka
Summary: John Murphy has been hiding away within the Promised Land's bunker for a few weeks when he gets a visitor. But before this even happens he must find ways to deal with the emptiness of being alone and the thoughts that attack him in the silence.
1. The Promised Land

Warning: Hints to Self-harm.

Nearly a week had gone by before Murphy even thought about leaving the comforts of the bunker. He had everything he could ever need or want within the bunker, so why would he leave the only safety he'd ever been accommodated with? The food had held up over the years, and if he didn't know any better he would say that it tasted a bit fresh. The panels outside the walls supplied enough energy for the systems to run within the bunker, and he had already spent an hour each day with hot water streaming down his body. It was too good of a feeling to have the dirt and grime off of him, and as the water trickled down his chest he couldn't help but think that maybe it was all worth it. The scars on his chest, his legs, and his face were deep but they were all worth this bit of luxury. The memories were daunting, but whenever he woke from his nightmares sticky in sweat he knew he could stand beneath the water and allow it all to wash away. He would soon curl back up in the folds of his red comforter and simply burrow deeper into the pillows, succumbing to the bitter-sweet haze of sleep.

The only thing he missed was the company. Even when he had been surrounded by surly strangers he had felt more at ease than when he was alone. Being alone reminded him of his days on the ark when he would often be put into solitary. It had been refreshing at the beginning, but he soon found himself overwhelmed by the empty room. The lack of noise caused him to start speaking to himself and purposely hurt himself so that the guards would return to his cell. The thunder of their boots would ease the tensed feeling in his chest and the shouts for a medic quieted the chaotic thoughts in his head. He had spent a considerable amount of time with the head doctor, Abby Griffin. And with that, he had also spent some time around her daughter, Clarke. He hadn't spoken to her during his stays in the clinic, but she had often hummed as she worked to bandage his arms. It was soothing, and it only further drove him to fight his own skin so that he could return to that soothing voice.

It had been a disappointment when he had truly met her on the ground though because he didn't know what he had expected of someone he had never held a true conversation with. She wasn't soft or comforting. No, she had her layers and found a way to carry most attitudes within her. One moment she was tending to wounds and the next she was chewing him out. It rattled him, but it also felt oddly comforting. She pushed at his buttons while also managing to keep him under wraps. He had once hoped he could convince her that he was worth her time, but the day she charged him in the clearing had sent those hopes crumbling. He had never truly wanted to kill Wells. Sure, he was the son of the biggest bastard on the Ark but he had no real reason to kill him. So when he had been hung for his death he had trouble fixing the logic behind his decisions. Even when he hadn't killed someone, they had expected it of him so he let it become who he was. It wasn't as if he had no reason for the murders he performed. Those guys had hung him, and Bellamy had authorized it and kicked the box out from beneath him. But he could never think of attacking Clarke. The memory of her humming as she patted the bandage on his wrist was too strong.

Once everything had been said and done, and he had returned to the fallen Ark he no longer knew who he was. He had set out to help his people and instantly been slammed back, and so he felt at odds with which way to go. He earned some respect from Bellamy, but the girl he wanted forgiveness from had refused it. He wasn't surprised though seeing as she had ended up killing an old love because of his inability to control, or even execute the psychotic Finn. Murphy groaned as he stood at the side of the pool table, his thoughts trapped in the past. He needed someone to calm his head, to soothe him back into feeling whole again. He had hoped to check for Jaha, but he knew nothing good would come of searching for the old man. He had tossed Craig out of the boat, and in the same instance stripped Murphy of the only friend he had the potential of having.

Murphy moved to the stereo system and began to twist the dials. He didn't want to alert anyone to his presence on the outside, but he also didn't want to listen to his own thoughts. And so he turned the volume up and collapsed backward into the couch. He leaned over to snatch up a half full liquor bottle and twisted his wrist to pour himself a glass. He sent it back quickly and felt the buzz right away.

"The promised land." His voice was hollow and the words felt numb on his lips.

One Week Later.

Murphy had barely heard the soft knocking over the stereo. The song was called "Uptown Funk" and he had just finished kicking the pool balls off of the table when he had heard it in the background of one of the quieter chunks of the song. He had thought it was him going crazy at first, deprived of human contact, but it had continued on much more loudly after a short gap of silence. He couldn't help but grumble as he leapt down from the pool table, nearly tripping on one of the loose pool balls as he crossed the room towards the stereo. He hesitated for a moment, waiting until the knocking continued before making his way up the staircase and opening the door once he reached the top. It was the first time since he had arrived that he had used the door and he was temporarily blinded by the sunlight. He lifted a hand to block the rays and caught the sight of blonde curls. His hand immediately dropped as he stumbled backward, shock written across his features as he tried to hold in the startled breath that was wedged in his mouth.

"Princess? How- where the fuck did you come from?"


	2. You're Safe Here

_"Princess? How- where the fuck did you come from?"_

Murphy's eyes grazed over the blonde woman as she took a step back on shaky legs, eyes widening and posture faltering as she barely managed to stay upright. It was evident that she had spent longer than him in the desert, and had probably been less prepared for it as well. She stood before him with her hair in a mass of grimy tangles and sand glued to her skin. Her lips were split and crusted in blood, and her face was burnt pretty badly. The look in her eyes had to be the worst though because even with them trained on him, they appeared dazed and empty. He wanted to say it was as if she didn't recognize him, but to be brutally honest it held the appearance of someone who was empty of much more than just recognition. It made his stomach churn and he suddenly felt uneasy under her dead stare. This woman was normally pretty mouthy, quick to speak and now she was standing in front of him in silence. He raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck and had to pause halfway there when the motion caused Clarke to stumble backward.

"What-" The words died on his lips as he spotted the long knife that had been drawn from the wrap on her thigh. His hands flew up quickly as he took a step back, eyes glued to the hand that clenched the knife. "Whoa there, Princess. No need to draw a weapon on me, I'm not going to hurt you." He had lowered his eyes to keep track of her knife hand, but he now raised his eyes to meet hers. Her eyes were half lidded in exhaustion, and the dark bruises that bloomed beneath them were even more noticeable with the sunburn that splotched her cheeks. A frown found it's way onto his lips as he chanced a step towards her, his hand going out to brush along her arm. She jerked slightly, but he moved his fingers across her skin and took a grip on her wrist. He continued forward with the rest of his body and used his free hand to dislodge the knife from her fingers. It wasn't intentional, but a hum had started up on his lips and he could see her visibly slouch at the noise.

Murphy held her wrist for a moment before tugging her slowly back towards the bunker. It took her a moment to start moving, but once she did it became clear that he shouldn't of let her. Clarke was favoring one of her legs and didn't even get past the threshold of the door before collapsing forward. Murphy was able to grab ahold of her shoulder before her face could connect with his own, but that didn't stop the petite blonde from letting out an ear splitting scream. The scream sent a jolt up his spine and he had to fight to keep ahold of her as he repositioned himself so that he could lift her up into his arms. He had an arm underneath her knees and one around her back. He backed up slowly through the doorway, moving them to the side to avoid knocking her feet against the door as he made his way inside. She was lighter than he had expected, and a slice of fear gnawed on him as he wondered how long it had been since she had last eaten. If the state of her severely dried lips was anything to go by, then she probably ran out of supplies a good time ago.

He ignored her feeble attempts at punching his chest as he made his way back down the staircase and laid her down softly on the closest couch, moving one of her nearly limp arms over to lay across her chest. He had wanted to dump her down for trying to fight him, but the short whimpers that had been drawn from her during the fall earlier kept the urge at bay. Murphy took a step back and looked down at the girl, looking over her clothes in fresh confusion.

"Any reason you look like a sandy grounder?" He took a step forward and pulled at a strand of leather on her boots, "I'm guessing the alliance went better than expected." His voice became quiet as he touched his hand to her pant leg, prodding at the area where the fabric was darkened from what he guessed was blood. "But that doesn't explain why you came out here." He was now speaking to himself as he skimmed his fingers over the fabric. He glanced up slowly to meet her eyes, and found that she was watching him from behind a sheen of glassy eyes. "What did I say?" He drummed his fingers down on her leg and shook his head lightly, "Never mind, want me to get this patched up?"

Once he received a slow nod, Murphy went to work on her leg. He pulled the boots off of her feet and tossed them to the side, ignoring the clatter of metal on the floor from the various blades that fell out of the boots when he had thrown them aside. He slowly pushed up the pant leg, but found that the wound was too far up her leg to push up the pants and successfully get to it, so he cut at the pant leg with her knife. Clarke let out a disgruntled grunt, and he couldn't help the laugh that drew out of him. "Sorry, Princess, but I couldn't get to it." He shifted onto his knees and leaned over her leg, glancing over the wound as he pulled a flask of alcohol over towards them. He popped the lid and trickled it over the wound before bringing it to his own lips to suck in a swig.

"Lexa betrayed me." Murphy's head whipped up at her voice, and his eyes skirted over her face. Clarke's eyes were pinched shut and she was pushing her head back into the cushion of the couch, her face twisted in pain. Something told him, especially after her first statement, that it wasn't just because of the alcohol dripping over her wound. "She made a deal with the mountain men, and left the 48 to be killed." Her eyes flitted open and settled on him, a sheen of tears clouding her eyes even as her face twisted into a look of disgust, "I got them out, but we lost a few. Fox. Fox was the first that I saw." The girl's words were clipped and rusty, and he suddenly realized that in the moment of getting her settled in to get checked out he hadn't offered any water. He put the flask of alcohol down and moved towards the adjoining room, ripping open a package of water bottles. He grabbed two bottles, and gathered an array of small snacks on his way back towards the couch.

Clarke accepted the food and water a bit too eagerly, her body moving forward and causing her to wiggle off of the couch and onto her side. The collision with the floor pulled a groan from her and a laugh from Murphy as he helped pull her back onto the couch. "Settle down, you aren't in any shape to move around like that." He held in a chuckle as he spoke, handing her the water bottles and food once she had settled back into the cushion. He waited for her to suck down half of the bottle before trying at conversation again.

"So you got them out, yet you're here? Why?" After a moment of silence, he went to the corner of the room to retrieve the old first aid kit he had found earlier in his visit when he had to fix himself up. He moved back towards her and settled back at her feet, eyes grazing over the wound as he pulled a needle and thread out of the kit. He started to weave the needle through her skin and was halfway done when the girl started to shake beneath his touch. He paused and started to hum, forcing himself to continue as the girl bit back a groan. "Almost done." He started to tie off the stitching when she started to speak at last.

"You aren't as bad as I thought you were." Clarke was gritting her teeth and forcing her head back into the stiff pillow beneath it. "You are probably better than me now." She let out a sardonic laugh and shook her head as she parted her eyes so that she could stare at the ceiling. "Never thought I'd be able to say that, but here I am." Murphy had finished tying off the stitch work and was now watching her, wincing slightly at her words. "How many did you kill? What, two people?" She laughed as she shook her head at the ceiling, "If only I had just two lives on my hands, but no. No, I had to-"

"Shut up." Murphy cut her off quickly, a growl lacing his voice as he picked himself up off of the ground to stand over her. "Whatever you did, whatever this is about, just let it go. There is a fucking large span of land and water between here and there now so just let it go. You aren't in any shape to wallow in self loathing, so get a grip on yourself until you can." His words lost it's edge as he went on and by the end it hardly held a bite.

Murphy ignored her gaze as he moved back around the room, snatching up a blanket from one of the other chair's and laying it out over her. He pulled the ends down to cover her feet and then moved closer to her upper body to pull a corner over her exposed shoulder. He began to draw back when her hand reached out towards him and settled on his jaw. Her fingers danced along his jaw before laying out across the lower half of the right side of his face, "You were the boy that always came back from the Sky Box with cut arms." He stiffened below her touch, nodded once and tried to ignore the way she twitched her fingers on his face to pull him closer, to move his face to the side for a better look.

Murphy lifted his own hand to envelop her own and pulled it away from his face. He guided her hand back to the curve in her stomach and pulled the blanket over her arms. "You haven't slept in days, get some sleep."

He moved slowly away from her, gathered the suture kit and settled the items onto the coffee table nearby. His stitch work was subpar at best, and he expected she would probably try to fix it up herself in the morning. As he moved to head off into his bedroom, he heard her shuffle around on the couch behind him. He turned after a moment and casted a look back her way, and found that her eyes were set firmly on his. He shifted slightly before pushing her shoulder against the wall beside the light switches.

"Get some sleep, Princess. You're safe here." Murphy allowed the edge of his lips to twitch up as he moved to the wall and flipped the light switches, leaving one on to allow her some view of the room. He doubted that she fully trusted him, and knew that the darkness would do her no good in feeling safe. He glanced back towards her before making his way down the hallway, the ghost of a smile tracing his lips as he ducked out of her line of sight.

He could've sworn he had heard her whisper a 'thank you' at his back.


End file.
